


Hello Tomorrow

by Townycod13



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, Time Shenanigans, dumb kids, gonna get p ridiculous js, hope you guys are ready for this stupidity, needless drama, sorry in advance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-03-20 04:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13710153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Townycod13/pseuds/Townycod13
Summary: It's time for Kenny to learn to bake. Or else.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fic beta'd by Panaceaa! <3

_Outsmart death_

Check.

_Out run the neighbors big dog_

Check.

_Shoplift cookies for irritable mother_

Check

_Sneak siblings sandwiches_

Check.

_Call in sick for work_

Check.

_Finish history homework_

Check.

 _Learn to bake_

…

Kenny tapped his list irately as he stared at the final item. This always ended up being knocked off the list as the ‘one too many items’ and then promptly added to the list the next day. Kenny wasn’t even sure why he continued to put it on there. It wasn’t like he was going to do it anytime soon… or at all really, despite wanting to he kept lacking the motivation to actually go and do it.

Maybe if he stopped putting it on the end of the list… but it was at the end of the list because it was low in priority… Kenny hummed unpleasantly and considered his options. He _could_ break into one of his friends’ houses and attempt to bake something without burning the place down… or he could forget about it…

…or he could stop ignoring the dead man in the middle of his living room. He wasn’t sure why but he’d hoped that reviewing his to-do list for the day would explain the corpse’s presence but nothing seemed amiss with the list… well, unless this guy died of not eating Kenny’s questionable cooking, in which case Kenny sure fucked this one up…

The man in the center of the room twitched and Kenny raised a surprised eyebrow, so maybe the red headed corpse wasn’t as dead as he’d originally thought.

Why did this stuff always happen to him? He was only twelve and there were half dead strangers in the middle of his living room with no explanation other than a rather loud crash that had resounded throughout the house and disturbed Kenny from reviewing his favorite reading material.

He totally read it for the articles.

In any case the man in question seemed to be twitching. That was normally a bad sign in Kenny’s book, as _most_ things dubbed dead in his life have a tendency to remain dead, and any deviation from the norm generally meant something particularly painful was approaching.

“Fuck…” the man groaned, gripping his head dizzily and attempting to make sense of his surroundings, “Where the fu—”

The stranger caught sight of Kenny’s orange clad form and there was a very short silence before he choked unpleasantly, staring at Kenny as if he were a particularly tasteless prank.

Kenny stared back with an equal lack of amusement, with some mild irritation spiced in just to express how unpleasant he felt about the situation.

The cogs seemed to start running in the stranger’s mind, odd expressions of disbelief and consideration passing over his face and disappearing as soon as it came into being.

“How old are you?”

Of all the things to ask after you play dead in someone’s house the first is ‘ _how old are you?_ ’ if Kenny were a more irritable type, like Kyle or Cartman, he was sure he would have thrown a fit.

If he were Stan, he would have pinched his nose and asked the man to leave. Whatever strange twist of fate that had brought him there wouldn’t matter in the least to Stan, in fact the stranger it was the more likely Stan was to just walk away.

But he was Kenny McCormick and Kenny McCormick is a man of few words.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

The muffled voice was accompanied by his best skeptical expression.

The way the mans face paled and quirked seemed torn between amusement and complete horror, as if something dreadful had been confirmed in the recesses of his mind.

With a calming breath, he sat up while giving Kenny an even look, “Could you please answer the question?”

Kenny groused, considering telling the weirdo to just fuck off, _but_ putting into consideration that aside from his practically comatose mother he was alone in the house with the psycho and he wasn’t _entirely_ positive he could outrun him.

Still, Kenny didn’t really like being verbally compliant.

“How old to I look?”

The red head held his head and looked very much like he’d just entered a long and unpleasant headache, he replied, “Listen, Kenny, I’m not up for shit right now, just answer the fucking question.”

…the weirdo knew his name…

Kenny took a cautious step towards the kitchen, hoping that maybe if he did attempt baking that this would all go away. It was _never_ a good sign in Kenny’s book when someone knew his name without being introduced.

Kenny could see it now ‘Chapter 12: In which Kenny is brutally raped and murdered by stranger in his own home while his mom gets a few good snoozles in’. That is, if Kenny ever got a chance to write his memoirs.

Noticing that he had officially succeeded in scaring the living hell out of the pre-teen, the older male let out a sigh, “I’m not going to hurt you. I just… really need to know how old you are…” Kenny shook his head and inched closer to the kitchen, something occurred to the stranger, “Kenny, do you know how to bake?”

 _Oh my god_ … he'd been right! This was all because he hadn’t bothered to learn baking for so long! Kenny gulped, “I-I’m learning!”

It was probably the pitch of his voice, or the nerves rattling him, but both of them knew it was a fib. The older man smiled.

“You’re… eleven, right?”

Kenny _really_ didn’t like the strange man.

“Twelve.” Kenny bit back defensively; this only seemed to interest the man further.

“Really now…” those cursed wheels were spinning in his head again, Kenny could just tell, “What’s today’s date?”

There was only so much weird before he stopped caring about the oddness, Kenny sighed and plopped down on the worn couch to the side of his uninvited guest, “How should I know? It’s May something.” it was hard to keep track of exact dates when one had semi-frequent appointments with the grim reaper.

This only seemed to confuse him, furrowing his brows he gave Kenny a careful once over, “Early May?”

Kenny rolled his eyes, “If you _must_ know, its probably mid-May?” Kenny looked thoughtful, “I think Kyle said his birthdays this week so it’s probably the twentieth or later.”

“And you don’t know how to bake.” The man confirmed more to himself than Kenny.

Kenny wondered if the guy had hit his head or something.

“I’ll get to it.” Kenny grumbled.

‘I’ll get to it’ was generally considered Kenny’s equivalent to ‘probably never’.

Forest green eyes narrowed and the red head finally seemed to catch himself from whatever daze he was trapped in.

“Hell no.” standing up in a way that could really only be described as of ‘rolling up ones sleeves’, the man rested a solid glare at Kenny, “You’re learning to bake right now.”

"Wait, what?"

There didn't seem to be a way of refusing the stranger though. He was a man on a mission and Kenny was just endlessly grateful that Karen wasn't home. What if the weirdo had kidnapped her instead?

When all the man did was drag him to the nearest grocery store within walking distance, Kenny wasn't sure about the situation all of over again. Was the weird crazy not-dead guy telling the truth?

Being dragged to the store, buying the ingredients, and marching back to Kenny’s stove-less abode, Kenny had barely managed a word in or allowed the time to holler for help as the redheaded stranger stomped determinedly to complete his mission.

Finally Kenny had had plenty enough of the intimidating silence and piped up with a question he was sure even this weirdo could answer.

“Who are you?”

The man froze, thoughtful and torn.

Seriously? He couldn’t even answer a question that easy? Kenny gave up on sanity and decided that this was definitely going to be another zany quest with a bad ending.

“I’m Kyle’s cousin.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

 _I thought he looked weirdly familiar…_ Kenny glanced up, observing the redhead and mentally comparing him to Kyle’s other cousin, _Its amazing that such a scrawny dude’s related to this guy…_

“And my name’s also Kyle.”

…huh?

“How many Kyle’s are in your family?”

He thought about it a moment before responding, “Seven, I think?”

Kenny contemplated briefly exactly how much the family must like the name but decided it was convenient for remembering names and thought no more of it.

“So what, should I call you Kyle Three or something?”

Kyle Three flinched at the address, obviously displeased at being called a number and particularly being called a number lower on the scale of importance than Kyle One and Two.

Kenny decided that with or without consent he was definitely referring to Kyle Three as such. A sort of vengeance for dying in his living room and then practically kidnapping him.

“Kyle Three it is.”

Kyle Three looked positively glum at the prospect but chose to just continue his march towards the McCormick residence rather than focus on it too heavily.

Kenny couldn’t resist snickering at this and decided that this ‘baking’ thing might be more fun than he had originally thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter beta-d by the amazing panaceaa!! Thank you so much for the help :D

“…Would you care to tell me, why a twelve year old boy; perfectly capable of reading and _tasting_ , could somehow mistake baking powder for _flour_?!”

 That’s what Kenny’d like to know actually. He was kind of grateful to Kyle Three for phrasing it for him so eloquently.

 But that was the amazing part of the lesson. Kyle Three wasn’t upset over the explosion. He wasn’t upset over the burning, the near fire, the forgotten pam bottle, or even the flour that had gotten dumped over nearly every inch of the school’s Home Ec classroom.

 Kyle Three was only interested in the baking powder.

 Upon arriving at Kenny’s abode, the two had learned what Kenny could have told Kyle Three from the start: Kenny owned absolutely nothing related to cooking.Kyle Three ignored Kenny’s suggestion to visit his younger cousin and instead dragged them both to the town’s elementary school and expertly broke in.

 For some guy “just visiting for the summer,” Kyle Three sure knew South Park well.

 Kenny shrugged in response. “…I got distracted?”

 If Kyle Three looked any more despondent and homicidal then Kenny would have bet that he  was officially a lost cause who would never be able to cook. But Kenny was an optimist at heart, so as long as Kyle Three only showed realistic levels of disbelief then he was pretty sure that there was still a chance.

 Eventually with a sigh and a heavy hit to his head in frustration, Kyle Three spoke, “Let’s just try again.”

 Learning to bake was starting to look to be quite the long quest.

 Eyeing the measuring devices carefully, Kenny decided to ask the second question bothering him while he learned to cook with the near complete stranger.

 “So…why am I being taught to bake again?”

 Kyle Three let out an annoyed grunt, instructing Kenny to retrieve the fourth cup before replying, “Why do you think?”

 Kenny wracked his brain for an answer before sending Kyle Three a sort of helpless look that mirrored that of school children who were asked to answer a question that had flown right over their head in front of their entire freakin’ class.

 (Not that Kenny had ever experienced much trauma in that respect. One dirty joke and the class couldn’t care less that he couldn’t divide worth shit.)

 The man paused, clearly becoming exasperated. ”Think really hard, what would you need baking skills for? I don’t know, try thinking of things such as 'once a year,' or 'your chance'."

 Kenny wasn’t following.

 “Chance for what?”

 Kyle Three groaned, “If you can’t figure it out than I’m wasting my fucking time!” Throwing the cup of sugar to the air, Kyle Three turned and _almost_ stormed out of the room.

 Almost being the operative word.

 “You know what, _no_ !” Whirling back to face the bewildered preteen, Kyle Three began his tirade, “No way in hell are you ruining this! You _will_ learn to bake and you _will_ fucking like it goddamnit!”

 Kenny gulped and barely managed a muffled and squeaky, “But _why_?”

 “Because it’s Kyle’s fucking birthday in only three fucking days and you are going to bake him the best fucking birthday cake ever, or I’m going to personally remove your means of reproduction!”

 Only someone related to Kyle could be so wordy while threatening to cut off another mans balls.

 Something akin to a cog turned in Kenny’s idled brain and just like that, it clicked.

 A chance indeed… making Kyle a birthday cake would certainly improve the redhead’s mood after Kenny’s collaboration in Cartman’s prank last week. Kyle still refused to talk to the blond and had also, ever so eloquently, expressed his desire to remove a very certain pervert’s chances of ever having children.

 Huh… must be a Broflovski thing.

 But something still wasn’t adding up. With eyes narrowed in suspicion, Kenny turned to Kyle’s very pissed-off cousin. “Why would you help me?”

 The look Kyle Three gave him in response somehow managed to be even scarier than his earlier threat. “Because, Kenneth McCormick, you are _going_ to win Kyle’s heart this year if I have to feed you to piranhas to do it.”

 …Well _that_ hadn’t exactly been on his previous to-do list.

 Kyle Three’s eyes narrowed further, “ _And_ you’re not fucking this up! Get me the goddamn sugar again.”

 Even without the red hair as a tip-off, Kenny would have been pretty darn positive that Kyle Three came from Sheila’s side of the family.

\--

 Hours of death threats and slave labor later, Kenny regretted ever wanting to learn to bake. On a brighter note although the work was laborious and as terrifying as he was determined, in the end Kyle Three made a small cake for the two of them to share. What was probably to function as a sort of “you made progress” prize.

 The cake... tasted amazing.

 “Dude! Where did you learn to bake! Holy shit!”

 Kyle Three gave the sort of smile that _bothered_ Kenny, “A good friend taught me. He was awfully cocky about it too, very proud of his self proclaimed... talent.” Kyle Three gave Kenny a long and hard stare before muttering something that sounded a lot like “dirty liar” under his breath.

 Kenny had stopped listening at the word ‘taught’ figuring that grub was _way_ more important than Kyle Three’s boring-ass past.

 The older man took one long look at Kenny and sighed, it was the sort of sigh that spoke volumes of truth. The one with a chapter entitled ‘I’m dealing with a moron’. Kenny was a little insulted.

 “Hey…”

 Kyle Three looked up at the voice.

 “Not prying or nothing but do you mind telling my why I have to seduce your cousin?”

 His gaze narrowed, “Not _seduce_ , you’re going to win his heart.”

 “There’s a difference?” The blond boy looked genuinely confused.

 They were in for a long and hard road ahead if that was Kenny’s view on romance… The deep sigh in response wasn’t missed by Kenny but he chose to pointedly ignore it. Instead, he vaguely wondered if he could maybe manage to make something other than charcoal tomorrow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> going to try an' update this fic weekly, wish me luck my dudes


	3. Chapter 3

"Dude, you look like hell, what happened?"

Kenny wanted nothing more than to snap back with something to the degree of 'your psychotic cousin kidnapped me for a fucking baking lesson yesterday and intends to abduct me again today because I think he might be crazy'.

Instead Kenny held his tongue, memories about Kyle-Three's threats of secrecy blooming to life. Dude was shady as fuck but Kenny supposed his intentions couldn't be all that bad if he was Kyle's cousin.

So instead of answering Kyle's well-intentioned but ultimately difficult question, Kenny stole the ball that was being half-heartedly dribbled.

"What the shit Kenny!"

Kenny laughed, passing the ball to Stan and turning to mark Butters.

Stan aimed the shot and missed.

Kenny allowed the mid-morning warmth of May push away memories of the whole crazy baking issue, at least until Kyle's crazy-ass cousin came to pick him up. Stan was laughing and they were moving to defense as Kyle approached the hoop with renewed vigor. Butters was trying and failing to mark him.

It was a pretty good day thus far.

\--

Kyle Broflovski, twenty-three year old law student, stared at his childhood home with some distress.

What the actual fuck was he doing.

He'd let his agitation get to his head and now he was teaching Kenny (the goddamn liar he apparently was, oh Kyle was going to wreck that asshole when he found out how to get home) to bake.

There was some part of him that did recall a strange older cousin visiting around this time but it was really hard to say why. Was it a time loop and this was always supposed to happen? Was this how Kenny had originally learned to bake?

Was just his being here already altering his memory of events and that's why he had vague memories of a distant relative?

Was there an actual cousin that was also named Kyle going to show up any minute and then there would be three Kyle's staying at the Broflovski home?

The entire thing was giving him a headache. He was only confident about a few things.

One, this was a very important turning point in his life and he was not letting stupid Kenny screw it up. And two, if he was going to do that he'd need his cover story to actually stick.

So here he was preparing himself to explain to his own mother why a relative she had never met was not only related to her but decided to come for a surprise visit during summer break.

He wished he could claim to be from his dad’s side of the family, he knew more about them, but that was the problem. He didn't know a lot about his moms side because it was the bigger side.

Thereby more likely for a cousin or two to slip through the cracks.

"Who the fuck are you?"

It had never really dawned on Kyle before how very much the children in this town swore. Was that normal? He didn't spend much time around kids nowadays.

When he looked down he found the incredulous eyes of his younger brother glaring up at him.

Yeah, he could understand that, exactly how long at he spent staring at the house and gearing himself up for this? He cringed, he must have looked like a complete creep.

Oh well, now or never.

"Do you live here?"

Ike edged towards the house, clearly perturbed by the question. Maybe not the best way to start.

"Uhh, see, I'm related to the family that lives here? The Broflovski's? My name is Kyle--" think, think, think, "Broflovski?"

Why could he not think of a single other last name on his mother’s side of the family? He groaned. He should have at least found a way to look at social media before coming here.

Ike eased a little though. Probably the family resemblance making the obvious lie almost believable.

"I'm going to go get my mom," was all he said before he scampered off towards the house.

Well, that could have gone better. Kyle groaned internally.

It got worse.

Sheila Broflovski, in all her glory was now peeking out the front door looking suspicious, Kyle was going to reinstate kick the baby in his own time.

Stupid Ike probably said he was a burglar or something.

“Kyle?”

Kyle blinked. He didn’t realize his mother’s voice was a bit younger. Come to think of it, she was younger. Less stray grays, less wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, and wow, there was her wide mom smile.

A bit of the anxiety inside him melted away. This was stressful and terrifying but that was his mom. And she was scarier than literally anyone or anything thing else on this earth.

“Hey, m--” he stopped himself just in time, “--Aunty Broflovski. I hope you don’t mind, I came to visit.”

She gave him a long once over and for a minute he thought the jig was up but finally she burst out from the door in that fully Sheila-way and pulled him into a breath-stealing hug.

“It’s been so long! How is your father? Oh--where is your luggage? Don’t tell me you came here without any luggage? Oh, come in, come in! We’ll get you set up in the guest bedroom! I’ll get you a nice cup of tea and you can explain everything.”

His mom was the best.

\--

His younger self, less so.

He’d been hoping to sneak his way out before the angry pre-teen caught sight of him but to no avail.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

Was his voice  _ really _ that squeaky as a child? And the cracking wasn’t helping matters. Oh, and he hadn’t learned to take care of acne yet either. Oh dear.

“I’m your cousin, Kyle.”

He’d predicted how the kid would respond to this. He knew exactly how he would have responded to this. He had the vaguest of memories  _ of _ responding to this. He was a little shit.

The boys face scrunched in total disgust, giving him a long once-over that was distressingly similar to the one his mom had given him, before glaring at his face like it personally offended him. “Don’t talk to me. Don’t hang out with me. Don’t bother me. And  _ don’t _ \--” this was said with utter vehemence, “--get me called  _ Kyle Two _ or anything to that degree.”

_ See how you’ll like Kyle Three, asshole _ . Kyle bit his tongue, picking a fight with his angrier pre-teen counterpart was an ill-conceived idea from top to finish.

Instead he tried to look non-offensive, “Noted. I’m going to go out. Don’t wait up.”

The little Kyle sneered, “Why would I wait up for you?”

Holy crap, he’d been intolerable. Kyle shook his head as he retreated the Broflovski residence to abduct young Kenneth again. From one little asshole to another. What god had he pissed off to be in this ridiculous situation?

At least Kenny was smart enough to be at the park as instructed, hands in his pocket and staring out into space.

“Oi, kid!” At his words Kenny looked up, somewhat surprised. This  _ was _ the meeting time. Did Kenny think he wasn’t going to show up, “We’re going back to the school. Keep up.”

Kenny fell into step with him easily, “ _ So _ …”

Kyle sighed, “You get exactly one more question and that is  _ it _ . What do you want to know, twerp?”

“What kind of cake does Kyle even like? I mean, if I’m trying to make him the perfect b-day cake or whatever, it should be a flavor he likes, right?”

A fond memory bubbled to surface and Kyle had to bite back a smile, “Vanilla.”

Kenny’s face scrunched up, “Isn’t that, I dunno, lame?”

“Nope.” Kyle was looking ahead, thoughts in the clouds, “It’s exactly the mentality you’re going to need to get through this. And don’t insult it again, it’s fucking delicious.”

Kenny raised his hands in self-defense, “Noted. Geez, anyone ever tell you Broflovski’s that ya’ll need to take a chill pill?”

“Many. Times.”

“Huh. And did the guy live to tell the tale?”

Kyle rolled his eyes at the smarmy child, “He might not after I get home.”

Kenny laughed at that, “Poor bastard. I wouldn’t wish your wrath an anyone dude. You’re scary as fuck.”

The world halted and his feet dragged with it. Kenny kept moving forward for three full steps before he noticed Kyle’s halt.

This wasn’t what he wanted.

Kenny was a sassy bastard but he was a good kid with a good heart and he shouldn’t be forced into something he never wanted.

A rock sunk in Kyle’s chest. What if he never wanted this? Everything? Was it always just him? Scaring Kenny into doing shit he didn’t want to until he was pulled into a relationship that was ultimately and truly one-sided?

It couldn’t be… but Kenny was a good actor. What if he  _ had _ been pretending.  _ What if-- _

“Hello? Earth to Kyle-Three? What’s up, dude?”

He frowned. Spiders of doubt crawling across his skin and heart failing to contain the pain. Through it all, he made his decision, “Hey…Kenny?”

“Yeah?”

“If… if you really don’t want to do this, you don’t have to. You don’t have to make Kyle a cake or--or anything else, okay?”

Sure. They might never happen. Sure. He’d lose one his most precious memories. Sure. The thought of returning to a future with no Kenny was earth shattering.

But he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life knowing he’d forced Kenny into it.

Kenny’s expression flickered, for just a moment, but when he spoke again his tone was still as easy as ever, “You’re worried about that  _ now _ ?” he laughed, “ _ After _ I’m invested in seeing this shit play out? I mean, I don’t know about all that hearts with Kyle stuff, but baking was on my to-do list anyway. You’re doing me a favor by giving me free lessons, dude.”

The unease plaguing his heart didn’t really let up but he tried to pretend it did. He knew that face. Kenny was worried about him and trying to make him feel better.

A complete stranger that had kidnapped and threatened him. Made bizarre claims and was all together too hard headed for his own good.

“Besides, Kyle has a primo ass, I’d tap that.”

And  _ there _ goes all the good will. Kyle closed his eyes to calm his response, “Goddamnit, Kenny. Just walk your ass to the school.”

Kenny mock saluted, shit-eating grin taking over his face, “Aye-aye, cap’n!”

This boy was gonna be the death of him.


	4. Chapter 4

“That’s sugar, Kenny.”

Kenny grinned smarmily up at him and Kyle-Three rolled his eyes.

“Don’t.”

“I need it--”

“Stop.”

“--because I’m sweet--”

“I swear to god, Kenny.”

“--on you.” Kenny giggled and booped Kyle-Three’s side with sticky gross hands.

The action rewarded him with a groan from the older man and Kenny put down the bag of sugar while his teacher paced the room to calm his anger.

Kenny was about ninety percent sure he had this cake baking thing partially down. A little down. He could make something edible if Kyle-Three watched him the entire way through and forced him to follow the instructions.

He also found out that the man was  _ weak _ to puns and Kenny had no thoughts on the joke genre that went in any particular direction. He  _ did _ enjoy throwing them at his teacher though.

“Kyle’s birthday is tomorrow already.” Kyle Three returned, “Please take this seriously. This is the cake you’re bringing him tomorrow.”

Kenny rolled his eyes, “Don’t worry. I can’t possibly fuck this one up. I’ve got you babysitting my every move.” He carefully measured a teaspoon of vanilla extract, “I don’t see why you don’t just make it. At this point you might as well.”

“No.” Kyle-Three got that clipped tone that meant he didn’t want to expand on shit like  _ why _ . “You  have to make it.”

“Aye, aye, cap’n.”

_ That _ earned him a chuckle for whatever reason and the man rustled Kenny’s hair.

He tried not to drop the teaspoon.

Kyle-Three did that. So casually. Just ruffled his hair and it was such a gentle gesture that Kenny still had no idea what to make of it.

He wasn’t used to people touching him. Not kindly, not so smoothly, not without the following nudges or pinches of the world cracking him like an egg.

“Remember to separate the yolk.”

Kenny nodded and failed to ignore the remaining sensation of the man's hand brushing over his head.

Maybe if he made this one perfect, Kyle-Three would pat his head again.

He refocused on his task.

\--

Kenny was proud.

He was more than proud. He didn’t think it was possible after his first few charcoal and salt flavored cakes, but this one was delicious. Kyle-Three had taught him how to shave off an edge for a taste test and hide it under the frosting.

And the frosting was great too. He’d whipped it up himself and it wasn’t too sweet or too bland. A perfect taste to accompany the masterpiece of a cake that he had decorated himself.

Was the gift gay as fuck? Who cared. Kenny had  _ achieved _ something. He found himself mentally thanking Kyle-Three for insisting he make it himself. There was a real feeling of accomplishment he got from knowing that the cake had been made with his own two hands.

How long had it been since he’d been able to give a real present of any kind to his friends? He missed being able to have something to give the others. He liked giving presents.

The guys were gonna be so surprised. Kenny’s chest puffed up and he held the box securely to his chest. So long as nothing killed him on the short walk to Kyle’s place, it was going to be perfect.

Kyle-Three had apparently already talked it over with Mrs. Broflovski too. Kenny beamed.

“What you got there, Kinny?”

Yay. Cartman.

Kenny looked at the half block left between his current location and the Broflovski’s. He could walk with Cartman. Probably nothing terrible would happen in half a block.

“Kyle’s birthday present,” he muffled back.

Cartman sniffed the air falling into step next to him, “Is it sweets? What, did you rob a bakery for the jew boy?”

Not a single ingredient in the cake had been paid for by Kenny. He’d let Kyle-Three do all the shopping and suddenly, that stung a bit.

“I didn’t steal anything,” he grumbled in response, speeding up his walk.

Cartman scoffed in disbelief, voice doing that special little obnoxious gear-up before he made a poor joke.

So close to Kyle’s house.

Kenny decided not to play fair. He pulled down the front of his hood just far enough to make sure his voice was clear and sang the opening lines to  _ Come Sail Away _ .

It had the desired response. Cartman could barely even curse before he tried to finish the song before they made it to the Broflovski front door. He wasn’t successful. Kenny grinned, mood restored.

“Goddamnit, Kinny,” Cartman grumbled, shoving past the surprised Mrs. Broflovski and into the house.

Kenny smiled at the woman. Sheila Broflovski was a special brand of terrifying but she also liked to feed Kyle’s friends. She was definitely one his favorite moms in the neighborhood.

He held up the box, “Hi, Mrs. Broflovski. This is for Kyle.”

She had the vaguely puzzled look most people that didn’t understand his muffled speak all that well usually got, but took the box regardless. “That’s very sweet, Kenny. Kyle’s cousin Kyle told me all about how hard you tried. Please, come in!”

Kenny tried not to bristle at the word ‘tried’. He knew his cake was awesome. Kyle-Three had admitted it was great and Kyle-Three was a hardass. With a hard ass, Kenny wished he had anyone to share his clever innuendo with but alas it was just him and Kyle’s mom.

He ducked inside and followed the sound of arguing. Chances were Cartman hadn’t actually been invited but showed up regardless. That was what he had done the last two birthdays.

“--ne wants you here!”

Yep. Definitely the case. Kenny took a safe position next to Stan while his other friends argued. “Butters here yet?”

Stan shrugged, “I think he got grounded again. He might not make it.”

Kenny gave a low whistle, “Tough luck. What’re we doing this year?”

“Just video games I think? Kyle didn’t really wanna do anything big.”

“Hm.” Kenny murmured noncommentally and tried not to let his impatience show. There was a series of events before cake, obviously, but he just wanted to skip to the part where he got to show off his masterpiece.

And the arguing was slowing that down.

He tapped his foot and stopped the motion. He should just let things play out at their normal pace. Hang back with Stan and let the eventuality to Kyle and Cartman’s argument wind down.

Let’s see… if arguing with Cartman took thirty minutes and playing video games took two or three hours, then a bit of time for presents, and finally cake...

Yeah. Thirty minutes of wasted time was too much. He was already going to have wait actual hours to show his masterpiece.

Surprising even himself, he stepped between the argument, a potentially fatal move and nudged Kyle just enough to stop whatever current tirade was going on.

“Anyone know if Butters is gonna make it? I heard he was planning to bring like a crate-full of cheesy poofs.”

There it was. Cartman’s eyes trained on him, looking for a lie. Kenny smiled easily. The advantage of not lying much was that people doubted you less when you did.

Stan seemed to catch on to the plan, like the bro he is, and chimed in, “Yeah. I heard that too. But I think he got grounded.”

The back and forth didn’t last long before Cartman volunteered himself to ‘rescue’ Butters. “You asshole’s better not do anything fun until I get back!”

As soon as the door closed behind him Kenny sagged in relief. The hunt for cheesy poofs could certainly gain them time and he could think of better peacemaking later. He turned to the birthday boy and was surprised at what he saw.

Kyle was looking at him.

Kenny blinked owlishly. It shouldn’t be strange but it was.

“You got rid of Cartman.” Kyle’s voice was stilted with some disbelief.

Why was it strange? Kyle had looked at him before.

Kenny shrugged, “Yeah, dude. Happy birthday. You guys wanna play video games?”

He turned away from the prying eyes but he could still feel them on him.

It wasn’t an awful look but it was… oddly invasive. Kenny pulled his hood tighter around him anxiously. His friend had gazed in his direction before.

But he really couldn’t recall the last time one of them at looked  _ at _ him. Kinda like how no one looks at a lamp. You see it’s there, you know it’s there, but you don’t actually take the time to look at the details. It’s a lamp. Lamps create light.

Kenny was a Kenny, he guessed. He just existed. No reason to look closer than that.

Still. It was well into setting up the playstation before he felt Kyle look away. He tried not to feel too much relief.

“Thanks, dude.”

_ Holyshit,  _ Kenny nearly jumped out of his skin. Kyle had somehow gotten right next to him while he was busy plugging in the game system.

“I appreciate you having my back.”

Kyle nudged him affectionately and then went back to picking out games with Stan.

Kenny stared at the wire he was supposed to plug into the TV for a long time. Logically, he understood all he had to do was put his hand forward and task completed. Instead, his mind was running in spirals trying to think about how TV’s work. What  _ are _ TV’s, really? Were they boxes that tiny little demon gnomes lived in, making little play acts of drama for humans? Yeah. That sounded accurate.

By the time he remembered that technology was a thing and how to do basic motor functions, the sensation of Kyle’s friendly nudge had passed and he was sure the coloration of his face had normalized.

Geez. He was being ridiculous. He plopped on the couch purposefully so that Stan would be between him and Kyle while clutching a controller for dear life.

They were an hour into a game that Kenny kept dying in when Cartman barged through the front door with Butters and an actual crate of cheesy poofs. Kenny found he wasn’t surprised. Kyle looked ready to complain and Kenny wondered if he could go two-for-two.

“Hey, Cartman, wanna take my spot? I suck at this game.” He stood and gave up the coveted couch position. His mind reeled for a next move. That would keep Cartman happy but Kyle probably still didn’t want the fatass in his house. How could he play this?

He tossed Butters a controller that had thus far been unused and grabbed a bag of cheesy poofs in a rush. “I’m gonna get a bowl for this, wanna gimme a hand Kyle?”

Kyle’s eyes were on him again with that peculiar expression, “Sure,” he said, letting Butters have his spot and following Kenny into the kitchen.

From the living room he could still hear the sounds of mayhem in the videogame and a contest of friendly insults between Stan and Cartman building up.

“What’s up?”

Right, Kyle, Kenny shrugged helplessly. “I--uh, I figured you didn’t want to be in the same room as Cartman so I did the best I could? Not really sure where to go from here though.”

So he hadn’t quite managed to win twice in a row but that was okay. He had a bowl of cheesy poofs to prepare and they’d probably be summoned by Mrs. Broflovski for dinner soon and  _ then _ he could show off his cake. He’d gotten a little derailed from his original goal.

To his surprise Kyle smiled brightly at the confession, “ _ Dude _ , you didn’t have to, I can handle Cartman.” The smile was still there though and Kyle reached up to grab a big bowl for the snack, “I appreciate the thought though.”

This time it was a hip bump and Kenny cheered. He’d managed approval twice in a row! Boo yeah!

Why had he ever put off learning to bake? It was doing wonders for his self confidence. He happily poured the poofy goodness into the bowl. He was good at baking now and good at the friend thing too. He should find more ways to interfere in the Kyle and Cartman dynamic. It could prove deadly but luckily death wasn’t really an issue so he was the man for the job!

He was probably thinking a bit too positively if death seemed like a mere minor inconvenience.

“No one really bothers anymore, you know?”

Kenny blinked, the tone didn’t sound like any of Kyle’s previous cheer. It was distinctly melancholy. He put down the bowl he was about to bring to the others, waiting patiently for Kyle to proceed. Dude was hella talkative, he wouldn’t have to wait long.

“Stan just stays out of it and everyone just shrugs off his shit. And I know I get… a bit intense,” a bit of an understatement, “but if just feels like no one cares anymore. Like he just gets a pass for his shit because everyone’s just  _ used to it _ . And that’s dangerous, we shouldn’t just get used to bad things.”

Kenny got the feeling this wasn’t just about Cartman being terrible. He continued to listen silently, sneaking a cheesy poof. Maybe if he went on long enough Kyle would reveal what was really making him act funny.

“And it’s not just Cartman,” ha, called it, “But just… everything? When I get on the warpath, people just step aside. Like I’m--like I’m my mom.”

Kenny winced. Yeah, he wouldn’t like being compared to Sheila Broflovski much either. A good snack giver she might be but chill she most certainly was not. And more importantly, most everyone regarded her with either fear or disdain. Kyle knew this.

“I dunno.” Kyle got bashful, rubbing his head uncomfortably, “I guess it’s just been a really long time since someone backed me up instead of backing away?”

There was a distinct sort of guilt building in Kenny’s stomach over the amount of times he had backed away for just those reasons. The fact that he didn’t even care about backing Kyle today, just wanted to show off his cake.

Maybe friendship was like learning to bake though. He was gonna burn the first dozen attempts but he’d get better with practice and after learning the recipe.

Kyle lapsed into a long enough silence that Kenny figured he was done so he gave the boy’s shoulder a friendly pat. “It’s cool dude, anytime you need backup just tag me in.”

The smile that spread on Kyle’s face probably could have lit up a room. Kenny looked away and coughed, grabbing the bowl of poofs and hurrying back to the safety of video games with Kyle close behind.

Stan was the only one that looked up when they entered, “That took ages, dude! Gimme the poofs!”

“No!” Cartman squawked, “They’re mine! I got them so I’m the only one that gets to eat them!”

Butters started to raise a hand in disent but thought better of it.

Kenny calculated his odds and pointedly handed the bowl to Stan before humming out the beginning to  _ Come Sail Away _ .

“Godamnit Kinny! You poor asshole!”

Kyle’s laughter was well worth Cartman’s eventual wrath.

“Boys! Finish up the games! It’s almost time to open your presents!” Sheila’s voice called from the dining room.

They were ahead of schedule! Kenny felt like he could walk on air. He was scoring points left and right and now everyone was going to see and taste his  _ bomb _ cake and this was probably his favorite of Kyle’s birthday parties.

He’d have to thank Kyle-Three after this. Dude might be an utter weirdo trying to matchmake his much younger cousin but he was an awesome cake-teacher-dude.

The game paused and Cartman’s face gleamed, “Oh yeah! Now we can eat Kenny’s stolen sweets!”

Kenny frowned, suddenly a bit less eager. He’d make Cartman eat his words when they tasted the cake.

“I didn’t steal it.”

“Yeah, right.” Cartman rolled his eyes and stood up, hobbling over to the dining room. “You better have at least stolen something good. No stale donuts, po’ boy.”

The rest of the boys followed suit, Kyle and Stan were engaged in a low conversation and Butters was happy to follow after Cartman. Kenny felt oddly left behind.

It was fine.

They’d eat his cake and then their words.

He pulled at the drawstrings of his parka anxiously.

“What are you waiting for?”

Kenny nearly jumped out of his skin and whirled to see Kyle-Three.

Oh, right. The dude was staying here too.

He shuffled his feet uncomfortably, “What if they don’t like the cake?”

The older man’s face softened, “Don’t worry. They’ll love the cake. It’s got my seal of approval so you know it’s good.”

Kenny felt a little smile build at the words, quieting some of the anxieties building. Finally, he looked up and saw a little thoughtful frown on the adult’s face.

“Did you let Cartman’s words get to you?”

Kenny shuffled again before shrugging, “It’s okay. I know he’s full of shit.”

“It still hurts to hear though, huh?”

Kenny didn’t expect the slight prick of tears to sting his eyes. He tried to blink them away. He was  _ way _ too old to cry over something so dumb.

It was mostly the way Kyle-Three saw through the bravado that kickstarted the unpleasant emotion into overdrive. When was the last time someone had noticed when he was feeling awful? An unpleasant but pervasive  _ never _ answer rhetorical question made it hurt more.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” There was that hand ruffling his hair and the sensation was pleasant enough that he felt the world brighten a bit, “You should hurry up and get in there. They’ll love your cake, you’ll see, and then you can tell Cartman to suck it.”

He nodded, not particularly wanting to walk away from the comforting hand patting his head but knowing that if he waited too long he wasn’t getting a slice of cake.

And that was  _ his _ cake, dammit.

Maybe Kyle would give another one of those big smiles after eating it.

He scurried away, hoping that Kyle-Three didn’t hear his slight sniffle and entered the dining room where Kyle was in the middle of thanking Butters for some nick-nack. He didn’t see his cake anywhere though. His heart dropped, had Mrs. Broflovski lost it?

A light clicked off and the familiar tune to the birthday jingle began, Mrs. Broflovski carrying in the cake accompanied by her youngest son.

Kenny joined in the chorus, taking a spot at the table next to Cartman and waiting for the treat to arrive. He’d been waiting  _ all day _ . This was going to be sweet!

The song finished and Mrs. Broflovski smiled down at the boys, “Bubula, your nice friend Kenny made this cake for you!” There was some warning in her voice, “Be sure to thank him!”

It was a bit disheartening that she felt the need to warn her son not to say that the cake sucked. He held it in though, once she had a slice she’d realize how awesome it was.

Cake cutting could have gone faster but Cartman interjected with complaints of which was the biggest piece every few seconds. Once everyone was served, and Mrs. Broflovski scurried away to deal with other things, Cartman sneered down at the treat.

“No way po’ boy made this,” he thought a moment, “ _ Ew _ , unless he did. Can you imagine? It’s probably full of cockroaches or something. His family is so poor, they have to use bugs instead of spices!”

It wasn’t that anyone believed him. But the imagery of bugs in food clearly spread across the table and most of the occupants were looking at the cake with apprehension. Butters even pushed his plate away, “Golly, I don’t wanna eat bugs.”

Screw it. He blinked away the threatening build of water in his eyes and took a bite of his own piece.

It didn’t taste anything like it did earlier in the day.

Bland and tasteless. Like how he felt. He really was going to cry. Oh god, he couldn't’ cry in front of his friends. They’re all assholes. There’s no way he’d live it down.

The sound of a fork against plate caught his attention and he looked up just in time to see Kyle eat a bite of the aforementioned cake.

His eyes widened.

“Holyshit.” he looked at the cake like it had grown legs and danced, “This cake is freaking  _ amazing _ .”

“What?” Stan’s curious voice followed and then there was another sound of eating utensils, “Shit, you’re right! Damn Kenny, where did you buy this?”

Kenny puffed out his chest. This was more on script, even Butters and Cartman were reconsidering the cake, “I made it!” he declared confidently.

Stan scoffed, “No way, dude. This is like, pro-made, it’s cool you found an awesome cake place but don’t lie.”

God. Fucking. Damnit.

Kyle took another bite, “I’m with Stan, dude. This is amazing but for real, no way you made it.”

“I made it.” He was less confident sounding this time. Heart sinking. Bravado. He needed bravado. “What can I say? I’m just talented.”

“Yeah, sure.” Kyle replied. Cartman chimed with another quip about which store had been burglarized.

Kenny clenched his hands into fists, “I made it and I can prove it!”

Kyle rolled his eyes, “Sure, and how do you plan to do that?”

He froze. He could use Kyle-Three but he’d been sworn to secrecy. What did he have?

“I’ll teach you how I made it!” He blurted. “I happen to be excellent at both cooking and teaching,” he lied, “Name the place and time and I’ll show you the ropes!”

There was that competitive fire in Kyle’s eyes, Kenny wanted to back down, he didn’t like fighting the tide like this. Usually ended gruesomely. “Fine. Next weeked, my place. Should give you plenty of time to remember the bakery’s name.”

The other boys laughed and Kenny tried to chuckle along. It didn’t go well.

“You’re on.” He shoveled another bit of cake into his mouth before standing up, “I’ll show you exactly how awesome my cake making skills are.”

And he turned and marched out. He didn’t think he could be there any longer. It was fine. He’d achieved his mission. Besides. He needed to urgently request help from Kyle-Three.

 


End file.
